


an exercise in mediocrity

by endless_dreamer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Manipulators to Lovers, Multi, Quidditch, Rebuilding, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 22:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endless_dreamer/pseuds/endless_dreamer
Summary: Lila Wadcock had only planned to blackmail Oliver Wood to save her family's shop. She hadn't planned for him to blackmail her back, or to end up in a fake relationship with him. And she certainly hadn't planned to fall in love with him.A story of unremarkable Quidditch shops, conflicting schemes, and bravery.





	an exercise in mediocrity

Walking into Quality Quidditch Supplies, Lila Wadcock couldn’t shake the feeling of walking into her mortal enemy’s lair. If said enemy was a fancy Quidditch supply store, with a bright orange sign on the front overenthusiastically inviting one and all to enter.

She was appropriately armed to infiltrate the lair. A Shrunken sheaf of Enchanted flyers for Wadcock’s Wares in her pocket to (literally) sing the shop’s praises. A Wadcock’s Wares badge pinned proudly to her chest—which she repositioned so the light would perfectly catch its purple color and elegant minimalist design—as a subtle way to announce her true affiliation to all the crazed patrons in the shop. 

And, in her other pocket, a Shrunken copy of _Witch Weekly_, its pages starting to crinkle and fray from overuse. Her master plan.

As her fingers brushed those pages, she felt mild prick of guilt on the back of her neck. Okay, fine, her _scheme_.

Her conscience, which had a very low tolerance for guilt, attempted to appease itself by suggesting that she had entered the shop for _business _reasons. As the enterprising woman she was, she would naturally try to scope out the competition, to study exactly what Quality Quidditch Supplies had that Wadcock’s Wares (an equally as stellar Quidditch supplies vendor, in her very unbiased opinion) was missing. Lila was simply studying the market.

But, ultimately, she was self-aware to recognize that her motives were more on the order of stalkerish than entrepreneurial.

Before she could let the guilt of her actions influence her, Lila reminded herself of the rapidly growing mountain of Gringotts’ notices on the dinner table and her parents’ uneasy smiles whenever she asked them about the notices. Every notice screamed the same proclamation in bold red letters: foreclosure. Seizure. Collateral.

_Sixty days._

Now, as Lila surveyed the shop, she felt resentment replacing the guilt. She’d never seen this many patrons in her family’s shop in its entire history, never mind in one day. Little kids gallivanted around the shop like sugar-drunk fairies, chasing mini-Snitches and pelting soft Bludgers at one another. A gaggle of teenage witches congregated around newly released posters of famous Quidditch players, with their shiny and polished smiles and exaggerated winking. Lila couldn’t stand in one place for more than a few minutes without being jostled by a crazed Quidditch fanatic.

Case in point: a small stampede of adolescent boys, all donning identical blue Puddlemere United jerseys, stormed towards her. Eyes widening, she stumbled out of the way before they could run her over in their bee-line to the display of the new brooms in the middle of the store.

Lila turned towards the display. Like the various jerseys and mugs and freaking cauldrons, it was draped in Puddlemere colors. (Lila noted, disgruntled, that there was barely any representation in the store of the Ballycastle Bats, who were, in her opinion, a far superior team to the Puddlemere _Pansies_).

Stamping down her righteous indignation, she focused on the bright blue poster levitating over the display. Her gaze first fell on the neon orange letters that boasted boldly: _The Thunderbolt: the best broom, for the best player! It’s a Keeper, just like him! _

Then, it shifted to the man at the center of the poster.

Her expression soured, like she’d swallowed an Acid Pop.

The first word that came to mind when she saw Oliver Wood was _shiny_. 

He was just...so _much_. She got the sense that he did nothing in moderation—which, really, shouldn’t have surprised her, from all the complaints she’d heard from Roger about him during her Hogwarts days. As if to prove the point, the Oliver Wood on the poster winked at her exaggeratedly, his dark eyes shining (Lila was convinced this was the result of dramaticized editing because no one’s eyes could be that _sparkly_). Then, he flashed his biceps, which were nearly the size of a Bludger.

Even now, six years after graduating Hogwarts and two years after the end of the War, he seemed much the same.

Lila couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Even if she had to—_very _begrudgingly—admit that his biceps were rather impressive.

Poster Oliver Wood’s expression shifted, becoming more serious and determined. She could see the single-minded dedication that she’d witnessed on the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts—as well as a hint of the mania that Roger had ranted about almost every day. Which brought the second word to mind: _relentless_.

He would do whatever was necessary to achieve his goals.

Lila’s hand curled around the copy of the Witch Weekly. She could relate. And, to her extreme chagrin, she found the relentlessness somewhat..._attractive_.

She stared at the poster for a beat longer than was strictly necessary, then forced herself to look away. _Focus, Wadcock_, she chastised herself. She was on a _mission_.

If she trusted the reports/borderline-stalking in the magazine—which was a pretty big if—then, the man himself would be lurking somewhere in the shop. He always was, right after the release of a new product.

Lila searched through the patrons in the shop once more. She studied every man who seemed about the right build: six feet too many inches, unfairly broad shouldered, a light and casual gait. She was certain that he was strategic enough to come in disguise, but she wondered if he was possibly egotistical enough to stand by his own display.

Her gaze finally fell on a man with a Puddlemere United cap on his head, lingering by the display, his gaze focused on the broom being displayed under the poster. The cap shielded most of his features and he was dressed fairly conspicuously. But Lila had somewhat obsessively scrutinized Oliver Wood’s features over the past week, and immediately recognized the cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and unruly dark hair that couldn’t even be tamed by a cap.

She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing incredulously. He really was _that _egotistical, wasn’t he?

With all the casual elegance and grace of a Troll dancing, Lila approached Oliver. She knocked her shoulder against his, bumping into him roughly. Turning to face him—and almost whipping him in the face with her hair in the process—she started blabbering, “Oh shit—sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going! It’s all the brooms, you know, they’re so _gorgeous_. Can’t resist the sight of such a beautiful, solid, hard broom.” She widened her doe eyes dramatically, trying to act like an innocent ingenue.

Based on the look of amusement and alarm on his face, though, she’d probably landed somewhere between mediocre pick-pocket and pervy klutz.

He nodded slowly, seeming to humor her. “I get it; the Thunderbolt is the stuff of dreams. Turn time of 0.5 seconds, fucking amazing stabilization—” Lila mentally face-palmed. She forgot how much fancy brooms turned on Quidditch fanatics; she’d heard her parents and brother laud over the Thunderbolt _ad nauseum_ for the past week.

Pretending to study him carefully, she interrupted him with a dramatic gasp: “Yeah, wait a second—are you _Oliver Wood?_”

His eyes widened, all amusement dropping off his face. A brief and unmistakable flash of panic crossed his face. Lila had seen the same expression on her cat Mercutio’s face, right before her six-year-old sister Nina pounced on him.

He murmured a curse, before holding his hands akimbo and slowly retreating backwards. “Er, listen, I’m flattered and obviously love meeting fans—you’re the best, the Levitating Charm beneath my broom. But I’ve got to get going now. You know, gotta go...Keep things.”

This time, Lila couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh from bursting out of her. Merlin, he really was that arrogant, wasn’t he? “I never said I was a _fan_,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes at the stale publicist-scripted drivel he was rattling off.

This seemed to stop Oliver in his tracks, and he seemed personally affronted for the moment. “What—why the hell not?” Then, he schooled his expression into something less righteously indignant. He furrowed his eyebrows, scrutinizing her. “If you’re not a fan, how did you recognize me?”

Arrogant, and a bit daft too, huh?

Lila simply gestured at the poster levitating right above his head, showcasing his face in all its glory, sparkly eyes and all. He looked momentarily sheepish. The life-fearing panic quickly returned to his face as he cast a nervous glance at the gaggle of teenage girls swarming the Quidditch player posters.

In one step, he was right in front of her, leaning close enough to her that she could feel the heat emanating off his body and wrapping around her. He was tall enough that he could easily crowd around her, appearing much like an immovable object. Lila’s immediate instinct was to shove him back for so ruthlessly _invading _her personal space, and to inform she was skilled in a _number _of hexes. 

But then Oliver started speaking quietly so as to not be heard, the timbre of his low voice making her mouth dry. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but whatever it is you want, I’ll give it to you. A picture with you? An autograph? An autographed picture with you? Just don’t—make a scene or anything,” he said with a slight grimace on his face, a shamelessly pleading tone in his voice. The teenage girls giggled a little in their corner of the shop, and the alarm grew on his face.

Lila took a subtle step backwards—not enough to indicate compliance or subservience, just enough so that she could escape his entirely too distracting sandalwood scent.

She was, after all, a woman on a mission.

She ignored his offers, meeting his gaze directly. “I’m Lila Wadcock.” For a beat, he looked more confused, his eyebrows knitting together. He did look adorable in his confusion. _Like Mercutio, when the Wrackspurts get to him_, Lila noted.

Most people probably wouldn’t have drawn the connection, but after a second, understanding lighted Oliver’s face (which didn’t surprise her, considering how fanatic she knew him to be). “Wadcock—like _Joscelind _Wadcock?” His eyes lit up—and Lila realized that perhaps the brightness in his eyes in the poster wasn’t so exaggerated—and a childish sort of reverential glee appeared on his face. 

“Merlin, she’s a Puddlemere _legend_. None of the Puddlemere Chasers have even gotten close to her record of goals in one match. She’s fucking brilliant,” he gushed, looking quite a bit like a fanboy for a twenty-two year old man.

Lila’s lips quirked into a slight arrogant smile. “She’s my great aunt,” she informed him. She’d really only met her great-aunt Joscelind twice before she’d passed, and only knew her as the aunt who had taken her on a broom ride when she was three that resulted in her being stuck in a tree for an hour and in the inception of her perpetual distaste towards brooms and flying. But she had a healthy amount of familial pride, so she puffed her chest in admiration regardless. (And Merlin knew that female Pro-Quidditch players weren’t fawned over enough by the backwards patriarchal society). 

“Wow,” he breathed. He studied her with renewed interest in his eyes, making Lila shift uncomfortably. “Do you play Quidditch?” His eyebrows knitted together. “No, you don’t...I haven’t seen your name on the rosters.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen the rosters for the other teams?”

He nodded, laughing like her question was ridiculous. “Of course. And studied every player’s style. Strengths, weaknesses, all that.” He shrugged. “I need to be _prepared _if Puddlemere’s going to win the Cup two years in a row.”

A detail from the _Witch Weekly_ article on him struck her. “Which I’m sure would you help you become Captain, right?” she added slyly, her tone all light and casual. He seemed surprised, but nodded in confirmation.

“I thought you said you weren’t a fan.” There was a new note of wariness in his voice.

She offered an unaffected shrug. “I’m well-informed.” She met his eyes directly, now, momentarily stumbling at the way he was studying her. She’d never had anyone pay this much attention to her. “Especially about possible business partners,” she continued, brushing a strand of light brown out of her face.

He looked confused, so she continued, “My family owns a Quidditch supply store right off Diagon Alley—Wadcock’s Wares. You might’ve seen it before? Purple, with the big gold W?” She pulled out one of the flyers for the store, handing it to Oliver. The purple wyvern on the poster, drawn by her sister, started singing, loudly, and off-key: _“Waddy waddy Wadcock! Come to Wadcock’s Wares, we’ll answer all your prayers!”_

Lila grimaced at the song, wishing she’d been able to figure out how to undo the Enchantment her father had placed on it.

Oliver looked amused. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been side. Seems charming, though. I don’t see how I factor in though...?”

“Well,” Lila started, shifting from innocent ingenue to charming saleswoman. “To be the youngest Quidditch Captain in team—and _league_—history requires a really compelling public image..and I can’t think of anything more compelling than supporting a struggling family-owned Quidditch business, owned and operated by descendants of one of Puddlemere’s most revered shops.”

“I don’t know,” he started, seeming unsure. “I have a contract with QQS. All of Puddlemere does.” He gestured to the amount of Puddlemere paraphernalia around the store, making Lila’s expression sour once more. “I don’t think I’d really be allowed to affiliate myself with another shop.”

Lila had, of course, anticipated this very argument. She laid on the charm, crooning, “Very professional of you, of course. But my family’s shop is really so insignificant—I doubt anyone would even bat an eye. We’d just love a few pictures of you using some of our products, maybe riding one of our brooms—for promotional purposes. It could help keep us afloat, so we don’t lose our home. Our _legacy_.” She couldn’t keep the hint of desperation out of her voice, as she thought about what it’d be like to lose the shop that she’d practically grown up in.

Oliver’s unsure expression wavered slightly. “I don’t know, I’m pretty particular about my brooms...”

Merlin, this man was even more stubborn than Nina when Lila tried to feed her brussel sprouts. In a flash, she shifted from charming saleswoman to cunning villainess. “That’s a pity...I’m sure your fans would love to see such community service. Why don’t I ask them?” She raised her voice, “Hey, you’ll never guess who’s here—mmf!”

Oliver was right in front of her again, covering her mouth with his hand, panic on his face as his gaze darted around the shop to see if any of the Puddlemere-infatuated patrons had noticed the commotion. His gaze dropped to hers, and his eyes narrowed. Lila could see irritation and determination in his eyes, which she’d expected as a natural response to being blackmailed.

But there was also a strange and unexpected _fascination _in his eyes. Like she were a particularly complex puzzle. The corners of his lips quirked up slightly. Like she were a puzzle and he was rather enjoying studying her.

Lila nipped his palm, causing him to make a noise of disgust and withdraw his hand immediately.

“I can’t believe that you _bit _me!” he exclaimed, indignant. Lila shrugged as if to say_‘so what?’ _though her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.  
  
“Are you going to do it or not?” she demanded.

He studied her again, before nodding and reluctantly acquiescing. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” he said, casting another glance at the fans, as if expecting them to horde around him at any moment.

Lila grinned. She might’ve felt more guilty for blackmailing and manipulating Oliver, if she wasn’t preoccupied with imagining her parents’ brilliant smiles and relief when she told them that she’d saved the shop. She had no qualms of taking advantage of the Oliver Wood Mania if it would save the shop.

“Great. We can meet in the park tomorrow. Wear your Puddlemere uniform,” she ordered, her voice returning to no-nonsense businesswoman. She was already starting to plan the photoshoot, making a mental note to call Roger. Her gaze flicked to his chest. She wondered if there was a way she could convince him to take off his shirt.

When she glanced back up at his face, she found Oliver watching her with something akin to respect in his eyes. The interest had never faded, but had instead only seemed to grow. He looked at her like he was mentally breaking her apart—like she was one of those other Quidditch players.

“You’re evil, Lila Wadcock,” he declared, though there was a surprising lack of malice in his voice.

Lila tensed slightly, before offering him a sharp smile. “No, I’m just willing to do whatever it takes,” she returned. Guilt edged at her conscience, and suspicion settled in her stomach when she saw the look on his face. Like Poster Oliver. 

_Relentless_.

As they shook hands, Lila couldn’t shake the feeling that she was cavorting with her enemy. 

But if that was what it took to save her family’s shop, then that was what she would do.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my fic! this is my first multi-chapter fic.I'm really excited to share this fic with you, and please let me know what you think! <3


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